


Time Apart

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Phone Sex, Sexting, guided masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: When you're away from The Master for a week, you find yourself still needing him. Fortunately he's only a phone call away.
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	Time Apart

“What?”

You startled. It was unusual for The Master to answer his phone at all. Honestly, you’d just been calling so you could whine at him later for not picking up. It always made him laugh, when you did that.

“Hello to you too,” you laughed, straining to hear what his mood was.

You were laying on your bed in the flat you were moving out of, curled up on your side, pleasantly exhausted after a day of chores and crossing-things-off-your-to-do-list. You were content, if missing him a little. Still, this was for the best. The Master had been too annoying to keep around – breaking things and causing mischief whilst you tried to tidy up the loose ends of the life you were leaving.

The charity shop donations, the paperwork, the resignation letters… it was all best dealt with whilst he was away, unable to be nosy.

You still missed him, though. It was a little too easy to get used to sleeping next to his soft form. His easy breaths, his cleverness, his casual power. You could breathe a little easier, move a little more confidently, knowing he was right there beside you.

“How’ve you been?” He was almost whispering, and you wondered what the hell he was getting up to without you.

It was only a week apart.

A week to make sure you were confident in your decision. To get rid of the responsibilities that tied you to your home planet. To make sure you could commit to the life together he’d proposed to you.

You should have said five days.

“Alright. Busy. Lots to sort out. How about you?”

Sometimes you were exhausted by his verbal sparring, the way you had to fight to keep up with his brain. But _fuck_ you’d missed his voice.

“I’m alright. Can’t talk for long though.”

The signal was bad. You wondered how many million light years away he was. It made your heart ache a little.

“Have you been getting up to mischief?”

As you teased, you heard him chuckle on the other end of the line, mourning the tiny distortions from the line crackling.

“Just a little bit. I’m hiding in a prison at the moment, actually.”

“Fucking hell Master!”

“I’m not actually _in_ prison,” he pointed out. You wished he could speak up a bit. “Just pretending to be.”

“Is there a big difference?”

“Yes! Certainly,” the rest of his explanation fell on deaf ears.

No doubt his plan was brilliant and massively overengineered. You cringed a little to think what he’d decided should be done without you there to witness it. It was sweet, in a way though. This wait-it-out-in-a-jail-cell plan didn’t seem much fun, as much as we was trying to convince you through the low-quality of the phone signal, his voice emitting from the device pressed to your ear.

One traitorous hand crept under your shirt, stroking your own side. You wished he’d replace his fingertips with yours. He was still rambling, probably risking giving away his location. Probably for the best someone interrupted him…

“I wish you were here,” you admitted.

He stayed silent for a moment, and you let your hand drift further up, a comforting touch in the absence of his.

“I can come straight for you now, if you like. In your timeline, that is. I’ve got a few more days of this nonsense to deal with. But it wouldn’t be a moment for you-”

“No.”

“No?” he sounded amused. You could picture his face now, soft and unguarded, that quirk of his eyebrow you often brought out in him.

“I still need a few more days to sort things out,” you sighed. “Friends to say goodbye to, this flat to move out of…”

He didn’t offer to help, you noted. Probably for the best, after his last attempt at helping you pack. Still, he made a _hum_ -ing noise down the phone, one which might be mistaken for sympathy, from anyone else.

“Five days is a long time without you, though.”

That hand was getting more aggressive, groping like he would when he was _hinting_ at what he wanted. The Master was not a subtle man. You hissed at the pleasure-pain of your own hand, squeezing your own breast too tightly. It felt like him.

“Oh, is it?”

“Definitely.”

If he’d missed the hint, the moan in your voice gave it away.

You heard the crackling of his intake of breath on the other end of the call, and it made you smile, dragging your nails across your nipple until it hardened, growing sensitive to the clothing covering it.

“What time is it there?”

“Late evening. I’m in bed.”

“Oh, are you having trouble sleeping, love?”

“I’m having trouble with _something_.”

You heard him chuckle, deep and teasing, even as he tried to muffle himself. There was something about his voice when he spoke to you. The way it turned rich and velvety, never hiding how much he was trying to seduce you.

“And you called me for help?” he taunted. “Here I was thinking you wanted to hear what I’m up to. I bet you’ve been touching yourself already, haven’t you doll?”

“You can’t prove that.”

You squeezed your thighs together.

“You’re not exactly subtle…” he mused, “Pinch your nipples.”

You put the phone on speaker, keeping it near you on top of the sheets, and whimpered as your fingers found your nipples, pinching symmetrically. You could imagine the grin on his face, as he was crouching hidden away in that prison.

“Are you wet?” His voice was a delicious whisper.

“Want me to find out?”

“Obviously.”

You knew you were dripping, but you took the invitation to snake your hand down, under the material of your underwear to slide a finger between your lips. For a moment, you left him in suspense, playing with the natural lubrication seeping from your pussy.

Then, you brought the finger to your mouth, sucking it clean with such obscene noises you’d be embarrassed if he was there with you. The crackle of the speaker emitted his low moan. Fuck, you wished he’d modified this phone for video calling. He’d be getting quite a show.

“Aw, love. I thought you just wanted a casual conversation.”

“I told you, I’ve missed you.”

You were desperate for him to not divert the conversation anymore.

You wondered if your neighbours could hear. Whatever. You were leaving soon anyway – they deserved a bit of payback. As your fingers crept back towards your pussy, you could hear how slick you were.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet,” you whined. The Master loved it when you whined. “Please can I?”

“Gently, darling.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, applying that familiar pattern of pressure to your clit, fighting your own lubrication for friction.

“Tell me how you’d touch me,” you demanded.

You heard him laughing, followed by movement on his end of the call. Footsteps, maybe? You felt your muscles tightening, longing for pressure, to be filled. For _him_.

“I’d force two fingers into you – you might need three love – and I’d rub you-”

The _beep_ of the call terminating brought your hand to a still, and you groaned, wrenching your sticky hand out of your underwear.

Fuck.

You ignored your pulsing need, the way you were clenching around nothing, the ache of your clit without contact. In frustration at the feeling of the fabric constricting you, you stripped your clothes off, kicking them off the bed until you were naked, skin still burning hot.

A text lit up your phone screen.

M: _Sorry love, guard patrol._

M: _Probably best not to get caught in my current state._

You smirked, lazily returning your hand to your pussy, texting one handed while you played with the hood of your clit.

_> State?_

_M: I think you know what I mean, love._

So formal. You’d never sexted him before. Never had to. You should’ve known he wouldn’t sacrifice grammar for lust.

_> Sounds hard_

M: _Very funny._

M: _I think you’re in a rather more dishevelled state, miss._

_> Can I come?_

M: _Let me think about it…_

That bastard. For a long moment, you were left in the emptiness of the room, no buzz from your phone, just the sounds of your ragged breaths, the slick sounds of your hands between your own legs.

You thought about what he’d been saying, did your best to stretch out on your own fingers. Damn, he was right. They weren’t as thick, as skilful, as his would be.

There was a battle raging between you and your body. A fight to keep your fingers from sending you over the edge, from speeding up, putting pressure exactly how you needed it.

M: _Tell me why you deserve it._

You surrendered. With a gasp and a cry, you bucked off the bed, finally orgasming around your own fingers.

M: _?_

With a laugh, you wiped your wet hand off on your breasts. In a moment of inspiration, you sent him a photo, the arousal smeared messily on your cleavage catching the half-light of the room, your naked body in cast in a low light behind it. You could imagine his face as he got it, hidden in whatever bizarre spot he’d chosen, the image lighting up his phone screen.

> _couldn’t message you back_

_> wet fingers_

His reply came in seconds. You could imagine the way his fingers were flying across the keyboard of that beaten up smart phone he carried.

M: _You’re going to pay for that ;)_

You laughed into the empty room, huffing as you stretched out your legs, twisting onto your side as you came down. The threat didn’t invoke any kind of fear in you. You knew full well he could never follow through with punishing you. Anyone else in the universe? Sure. But you? Never. He usually ended up on his knees, beard wet, your punishment be damned.

You liked to indulge him anyway. Make him feel in control.

> _Not for a few days yet ;)_

M: _No. I’ll be there tomorrow._


End file.
